


Beyond the Breach

by nightram



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dialogue taken from cutscenes, F/M, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Mage Inquisitor Lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-12 14:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18448640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightram/pseuds/nightram
Summary: The Breach is sealed but Haven has fallen.After stumbling through the avalanche and beyond to Skyhold, Inquisitor Lavellan must contend with the wider issues Corypheus now presents.





	1. Tarasyl'an Te'las

**Author's Note:**

> I had previously written some things about my first Inquisitor a few years ago. I decided that now that I'm replaying the game again, I'd like to explore how time has changed my own interpretation of the story.
> 
> I feel Brienne Lavellan is a bit of an obnoxious character in hindsight. Hopefully Ariaya is more palpable! (Ariaya pronounced "Ah-rye-ah")

The ancient doors creak open with a drown-out moan as the soldiers push with all their weight. Dust erupts from the threshold opened for the first time in centuries. Light floods in with long shadows cast by the entering figures. Sunbeams shine through the damaged roof and walls of the keep with a frigid mountain breeze making the fine hairs stand tall on the newly crowned Inquisitor’s neck.

_Skyhold._

She takes a deep breath in, the smell of mildew and cold stabs at the depth of her lungs and tickles her nose. Pressing a thumb to her marked palm, the Inquisitor rubs at the exposed skin and slowly paces into the hall. The clack of her heels echo across the stone floor, coming to a stop a few feet in.

“So this is where it begins,” Commander Cullen muses as he circles slowly, taking in the sheer size of the hall.

“No,” Leliana murmurs, her voice filling the brief silence, “it began in the courtyard. This is where we turn that promise into action.” There is still noise from the crowd slowly dispersing from the gardens.

Ambassador Josephine looks up from her board. “But what do we do?” She sets down her quill, blowing a soft breath onto her drying script. “We know nothing of this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose the Inquisitor turns to face her advisors. She sighs. “Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter,” her frown bleeds into her tone, “is this a prelude to war with the Imperium?”

The Commander scoffs, “I get the feeling we’re dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a _true_ invasion.”

“Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago,” Josephine’s voice cuts sharply and with purpose, “what Corypheus yearns to ‘restore’ no longer exists.” A pause. “Though they would shed no tears if the South fell to chaos,” she adds with a less confident tone, “I’m certain”.

The Inquisitor nods thoughtfully and steals another glance of the stained glass windows over her shoulder before turning back. “Corypheus said he wanted to enter the Black City, that this would make him a God.”

Leliana is quick to step forward, linking her fingers behind her back. “He is willing to tear this world apart to reach the next. It won’t matter if he’s wrong”

Cullen turns to her with his brows tightly knit. “What if he’s not wrong? If he finds some other way into the Fade?” His deep voice is a stark contrast to that of his colleagues.

“ _Then_ ,” Leliana’s words drip from her tongue with venom, “he gains the power he seeks, and unleashes catastrophe on us all.”

The Inquisitor is quick to speak. “Could his dragon really be an Archdemon?” Her mouth moves to continue but her words catch; a brief pause before she bites her bottom lip. “Would that mean...?”

“It would mean the beginning of another Blight,” Leliana answers with a sigh.

“We’ve seen no Darkspawn other than Corypheus himself,” Josephine interjects, a voice of cautious optimism, “perhaps it’s not an Archdemon at all but… something different?”

With a huff, Cullen tugs at his mantle and readjusts it on his shoulders. “Whatever it is it’s dangerous. Commanding such a creature gives Corypheus an advantage we can’t ignore.” He and Leliana exchange stern glances before looking back to the Inquisitor.

Turning away, Inquisitor Lavellan steps further into Skyhold. She notices rats running from under the rotting debris of what was a large part of the ceiling. “Could he strike at us here?” Her voice sounds meek when it falls from her lips. A pause of silence. Straightening her spine she turns again to address her advisors. “We can’t have a repeat of what happened in Haven.”

Commander Cullen stands at attention and his fingers flex their grip on the pommel of his blade. “Skyhold has the bones to withstand Corypheus. After what you did with one trebuchet I’d bet _against_ direct attack.” “

We do have one advantage,” Leliana purrs, “we know what Corypheus intends to do next.” With a hum she adjusts her gloves and begins to pace. “In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celine had been assassinated.” “

Imagine the chaos her death would cause,” the Ambassador’s eyes widen, “with his army...”

The Commander is quick to interject. “An army he’ll bolster with a massive force of demons,” he snarls before taking a moment to think, his skepticism evident as he continues, “or so the future tells us.”

The Inquisitor quickly fires a glare his direction with her proverbial heckles up. She has not forgotten the now much heavier the burden of responsibility that weighs on her shoulders has become thanks to the Redcliff saga. The Commander had made his skepticism, or maybe it was thinly veiled ‘I told you so’ on the state of the mage faction, clear the moment the words ‘time travel’ had fallen from the then Herald’s lips the first time.

“Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas, god or no god.” Ambassador Montilyet’s concern is painted thickly on her expression and in the nervous tapping of fingernails on her clipboard. Lavellan notes the lack of dirt under Josephine’s nails and steals a glance at her own, quickly picking at the muck she sees.

Leliana twists her fingers behind her back and a sigh whistles between her gritted teeth. “I’d feel better if we knew more about what we are dealing with,” she snarls into the stone under her feet, staring daggers into the very foundations of Skyhold.

“I know someone who can help with that.”

Varric’s voice is so sudden and unexpected that Leliana’s eye twitches; her only tell that her hidden blade would be her next move. Josephine gasps quietly, her fingers pressed to her chest as she catches herself. The advisors turn to address the dwarf while the Inquisitor continues to follow him into the room with her eyes.

“Er, everyone acting all inspirational jogged a memory so I,” the ever charming rogue speaks with an unusual mix of confidence and doubt as he checks and unchecks himself, ”uh, I sent a message to an old friend. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing.” Leliana’s eyebrows visibly raise, Josephine and the Inquisitor’s eyes looking briefly to the Bard. “She can help.”

The shadow of a familiar smirk brushes at Varric’s stubble as he watches the Inquisitor roll her thoughts around her head.

There’s another gust of shrill razor wind that skirts through the draughty hall.

“I’m always looking for new allies,” the Inquisitor shrugs and takes a step forward, “Introduce me.”

Varric looks over his shoulder deliberately and he hesitates when he speaks. “Parading around might cause a fuss, it’s better for you to meet privately…” he mutters and strokes his hair back. “On the battlements,” he adds.

Leliana and Josephine share knowing glances.

The Commander has not moved from where he stands, his feet firmly planted to the ground as he follows Varric with a watchful eye. The image of flames licking stone shoots through his mind like a knife and firmly plants it’s pain in his left temple.

“Trust me,” Varric’s mouth moves to speak further but he catches himself, instead releasing a sigh, “it’s… complicated”. A shrug of his right shoulder.

The Inquisitor gives a knowing nod and glances beyond the rogue out past the doorway, but sees nothing, and returns her attention back to his warm presence. Varric takes the opportunity to excuse himself with a curt bow of his head to each of the advisors and a quick step back.

Narrowing her eyes, the Inquisitor notes the way the muscles move as Cullen clenches and unclenches his jaw with his thousand yard stare. She’d seen this tell a few times before but only now was drawing her connections. Was it Kirkwall?

“Well,” Josephine hums, a bob in her step as she clicks her heels together, “we stand ready to move on both of these concerns.”

Her accent is like a whip crack and it rips the Commander from his thoughts. He speaks instantly, suddenly. “On your order, Inquisitor,” the title falls from his tongue with ease as he excuses himself without a thought. He needed to be anywhere that wasn’t here right in this moment but thankfully no one notices his haste.

“I know one thing,” the Spymaster raises her thin brow, “if Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him.” She bows her head to the Inquisitor and takes her leave down a dark corridor. I

nquisitor Lavellan again presses her thumb into her marked palm as a stinging sensation manifests beneath her flesh. The pain had changed since her most recent meeting with Corypheus and his attempt to extract its power. What had previously been a burning sensation that flowed like the tide had now become interrupted with stuttering jabs and twists that had no rhythm.

The elf comes to stand beside the Ambassador who peers out into the courtyard.

“I’m sure she will understand,” Josephine flashes a toothy smile, “the Lady Seeker will be mad but I’m certain she will see reason with Varric. They are both protectors after all, no?”

“I think you underestimate Cassandra’s wrath.” Lavellan pulls out the letter sitting on top of Josephine’s clipboard and peers over her elegant writing. “I don’t know the full story but I feel there’s more to it all.”

Josephine wipes a drop of hot wax away before it spills onto her pages and flicks it to the ground. “I do not doubt that Inquisitor, but,” she rolls her words between her lips before deciding on what to say, “wouldn’t keeping her presence a secret only make the situation worse? You can only hide so much from someone of whom “Seek” is in their title.”

This earns a short giggle from Lavellan.

“And with _that_ ,” the Ambassador plucks the letter from Lavellan’s hands, “I will take my leave. I still need to prepare a fifth draft of this correspondence to the Chantry. They wish to know whether we willingly handed you to Corypheus or if we were at least prepared to sever your arm to return his mark.”

 

 

  


[Original posted to my tumblr](http://nightram.tumblr.com/post/184358647769).


	2. Enansal

Lavellan gulps down the last of her flask and wipes the water droplets around her mouth. Screwing the cap back on she places the vessel on a stone nearby and rolls her shoulders to free the knots building in her muscles. Something releases in her neck and she sighs at the relief.

The Seeker follows suit by removing her gloves and taking a moment to quench her thirst. The pair admire their handy work on clearing the collapsed wall near where Cassandra trains. The Inquisition is awaiting the final drafts on the reconstruction plan but the Seeker grew weary of constantly seeing the debris untouched and wanted to contribute. They’d only been in Skyhold maybe a week at best but Cassandra was restless from the lingering shock of Haven and the need to do more.

The Seeker is quick to return to her work, pulling on her clammy gloves and lugging another stone over to the wheelbarrow. There is moss caking the alabaster and every stirred rock frightens the bugs hiding underneath.

The warrior has made light work of the lifting thanks to her strong form, the Inquisitor notes, having had considerably more trouble with her load. Although possessing a fair amount of upper body strength herself from wailing her staff around, the Inquisitor doesn’t have the stamina or physique to keep up, not for lack of trying.

The elf carries a smaller stone to drop into the barrow and kicks away the centipedes that crawl out of the dirt.

“I’m going to get some more water,” she huffs, “I’m parched. I’ll top up your flask while I’m at it.”

With a stern expression Cassandra squats to lift another rock. She puffs her cheeks and the breath whistles from between her teeth from the effort. “Just take it from my belt,” she grunts, angling her hip towards the Inquisitor who is quick to pluck the container away. The elf watches as she shifts back to her centre, straightens up and walks the mass to the barrow again and dropping it in with a bang. One of the windows nearby in the Herald’s Rest slams shut in protest.

Lavellan discards her gloves on a fence post and dabs at her brow with her handkerchief. “I might grab some bread while I’m at the kitchens, do you want some too?”

“That would be good,” Cassandra nods, squatting down to lift another stone. “Thank you.”

The Inquisitor utters a ‘back soon’ and makes her way towards the hall, scaling the steps and peering out over the rest of the keep. She catches the portcullis rising to allow a small envoy of Inquisition soldiers in and the Commander waving them over from his makeshift desk in the courtyard. She also sees a glimpse of the strange boy who has been lingering around the healers tents but he’s gone in a blink.

She continues on her mission and jogs up the remaining flight and into the hall. Varric sits by the hearth working through his latest batch of letters. He peers over his reading glasses as the Inquisitor walks past and they share a brief greeting. Lavellan gives a gentle pat on the shoulder and continues through to the kitchens.

“Afternoon your Worship,” the kitchen maid smiles as the door opens. She wipes her hands on her stained apron and gives an acknowledging nod.

“Good afternoon Belias,” the Inquisitor smiles, “it smells wonderful in here. Dinner preparations are early today?”

Belias steps aside to allow the elf through the thoroughfare and watches her make a beeline for the water pitchers, pouring herself a cup and washing it down without a moment’s pause.

“We’ve only started a bit earlier today. Need the extra time for the roast according to Markel’s family recipe.” She raises an eyebrow as the Inquisitor guzzles down a second and third helping.

Lavellan slams her mug down on the benchtop and licks her lips once she has had her fill then busies herself topping up the flasks she brought with her. “You’ll catch me at the front tonight if it’s anything like that other thing Markel had up the other night,” she grins, “the stew was delicious. I’ll need to get copies of his recipes.”

Belias giggles and returns to her food preparations. Lavellan pauses to watch momentarily and admires how quickly the older woman slices the carrots with finesse. There is a brief veil of sadness that clouds her vision as she’s reminded of watching her mother preparing dinner. 

“Is it okay if I grab some bread?” Lavellan asks as she is already bagging a loaf. They know to bake extra now. Belias hums a ‘yes’ while she focuses on peeling another carrot. 

The Inquisitor takes her leave out the back door and makes her way down the steps while tearing at her loaf, flasks loudly clattering away in the bag tied to her belt. The merchants are still setting up their stalls near the stables and the smell of manure is quick to wash away the more pleasant ones of the kitchen. She’s mindful to watch where she steps.

She steals a glimpse of Blackwall working away at something in the barn but decides to not bother him. Bonny Sims gives a polite wave as they pass each other and a small huddle of agents bow their heads.

Commander Cullen is shuffling through reports and supplies requests while issuing orders to various soldiers and agents as the Inquisitor approaches. His voice is curt when addressing his men, a lot sharper than when discussing the semantics of these issues in the War Room.

“Send men the scout the area,” he says while passing an order to one of Leliana’s agents standing at attention. “We need to know what’s out there.”

“Yes ser!” With a salute they disperse.

A soldier brushes past Lavellan with a quiet apology and is quick to stand by the Fereldan’s side.

“Commander,” he falls into a rigid posture and clasps his hands behind his back. “Soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters.”

“Hmm, very good,” Cullen grunts, stealing a glance at the Inquisitor before turning to the documents on the crate serving as his desk. “I’ll need an update on the armory as well.” Turning away he rests his palms on the crate and glances over the reports for the eighth time already. He’s found it difficult to retain all the information today thanks to the poor sleep he had last night.

He bristles as the thought of his night terrors and is quick the brush the cold touch away.

Turning a page over, the Commander sets it aside and picks up another. He hums thoughtfully and turns, almost stepping on the very soldier he had just spoken to. Cullen pauses, narrows his eyes and lowers the report while levelling the soldier with a cold stare. “Now!”

Lavellan stifles a laugh and takes another bite from her snack as the nervous man scuttles away. She holds the bread out to the Commander as she approaches but he gestures it away.

“We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an Arch Demon,” Cullen sighs and pinches at the back of his neck, “or whatever it was.” He grimaces as he presses the tender skin, tilting his head and releasing an audible crack. “With some warning we might have…”

“Do you ever sleep?” the Inquisitor scowls, swallowing her mouthful.

Cullen straightens his posture and drapes his right arm over the hilt of his sword leisurely. “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw,” he chastises. “And I wouldn’t want to,” he sighs, “we must be ready.”

Lavellan goes to speak but the Commander continues his report. “Work on Skyhold is under way, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week.” He knocks his knuckles on the crate and gestures to Lavellan. “We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

She steals a glance at the two agents standing to the side awaiting their orders before turning back to Cullen who now bends over his paperwork again. “How many were lost?”

His shoulders sink under the weight of the 'Commander' façade he must wear.

He shakes his head and stares at the words in front of him. Breathing in through his nose he reminds himself that this is not the time to have a full discussion on the numbers. They still need to comb through the snow-logged remains of the township itself, not just the battlefield. The civilian casualties will soar once they get in there...

Commander Cullen looks up at the Inquisitor. “Most of our people made it to Skyhold,” but not enough. “It could have been worse,” it could’ve been far better. If only we’d been better prepared, if we had established more evacuation points sooner. If _he’d_ been more.

“Morale was low,” he admits, forcing his mind to the present, sharing a weak smile with Lavellan, “but has improved greatly since you accepted the role as Inquisitor.”

“‘Inquisitor Lavellan’,” her words sound almost venomous or was it fear. “It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

Cullen shakes his head. “Not at all.” 

The elf cocks her head to the side and raises a brow, a hand on her hip. “Is that the official response?”

A rumbling chuckle escapes the Commander and he lets it flow from him. He shrugs his shoulder and glances at her. “I suppose it is, but it’s the truth,” he pats her on the arm to offer a comforting gesture, “we needed a leader. You have proven yourself.”

Lavellan feels almost smothered by the way he looks at her with his praise and can’t help the need to stare at her feet. She reminds herself to take his words for what they are; genuine. It still didn’t feel right that _she_ be the Inquisitor when she felt Cassandra or Leliana were more deserving of the role. But it seemed only she was the one who felt that way.

She looks up and is greeted by a smile. “Thank you, Cullen.”

Still, she felt the loss of the battle deeply within her. It still felt as if the Inquisitor’s very bones were still frozen by the hours it took to cross the pass to safety. There was discontempt when she’d taken up jobs tending to Skyhold’s disrepair, she did need to continue resting but she couldn’t stop after what she witnessed that night.

She needed to keep busy, to push the chilling thoughts away.

“Our escape from Haven, it was close.” Lavellan bites her lip, “I’m relieved that you- that so many made it out.” She curses herself for the slip of the tongue.

“As am I,” he admits quickly, surprising the both of them. But he owns the tender feeling and allows it to nestle in his throat. He looks down at his hand resting on the crate, flexes his fingers and knocks his knuckle on the surface again.

Lavellan crosses her arms but quickly uncrosses them, instead opting to perch her hands on her hips. She kicks a rock in the dirt and feels the memories dance around her mind. Nodding to herself as if to tell herself ‘it’s time’ she turns to leave.

“You stayed behind,” Cullen mutters once her back turns away. “You could have…”

Her boot stops just before it reaches the ground and she retracts her step, instead turning back to face him. Lavellan notes that she is beginning to feel uncomfortable and can feel her heart beating in her chest. She is regretting this conversation.

The Commander takes a step closer with a look of resolve. “I will not allow the events of Haven to happen again.” There is an intensity in his eyes that she hasn’t seen before and she isn’t certain of how she feels of it. “You have my word.”

With that the Commander bows his head and turns back to his work, signalling the end of the conversation. Lavellan finds herself letting go of a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. She turns away from him and casts her gaze across the rest of the yard.

Anything but him right now.

She steals another piece of bread from the stash wrapped up in her pocket and deliberately walks away without looking back. There is the distinct sensation of eyes on her back and if she had looked she would be greeted by the Commander’s keen watch of her and the confused glances shared between the agents and soldiers who had witnessed the exchange.

She picks off another piece of her snack, stuffing it in her mouth and wanders away contemplating her thoughts.


End file.
